


Day 27: Ransom

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [13]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Daphne is the best, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fiona Pitch's POV, Fiona is on the rampage, M/M, Malcolm Grimm's side of the story, Malcolm is at his wits end, Mentions of the Mage, Pitches don't pay ransoms, Ransom, The other side of the story, What happened while Baz was kidnapped by the numpties, Whumptober 2019, is that a demon?, mentions of Natasha Pitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-01 07:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: Malcolm Grimm realizes Baz isn't just late coming home from the Club. The Grimm and Pitch side of the numpty kidnapping story and why no ransom was ever paid to the numpties. Lots of Fiona and Malcolm interactions.
Relationships: Daphne Grimm/Malcolm Grimm, Fiona Pitch & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Fiona Pitch and Malcolm Grimm, Malcolm Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch
Series: Whumptober 2019 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541554
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Day 27: Ransom

##  [Whumptober Day 27](https://carryonsimoncarryonbaz.tumblr.com/post/188639253643/whumptober-day-27)

Day 27: **Ransom**

* * *

**Fiona**

I’ve just settled down for the night. My tea. My bikkies. Hugh Grant in _Four Weddings and A Funeral _on the telly.

I’ll admit I’m a bit partial to Hugh, but I can’t for the life of me understand why they keep pairing him up with these bloody awful American women in his films. Fiona was a far better fit for him than that wretched Carrie. I suppose it’s all to appeal to American audiences.

Typical.

My mobile rings just as Henrietta spots Charles. Blast it. I like this bit.

It’s Malcolm. I pick up.

“Fiona, it’s Malcolm.”

“So I gathered. I do have caller ID, you know. That’s why I’m bothering to answer.”

“Have you spoken to Basilton today?”

Odd. I thought Basil was in Hampshire with them. I tell Malcolm just that.

“He is… he was.” It’s not like Malcolm to stumble over his words. “He went to the Club to play tennis with Dev this morning and he’s not back.”

“Did he run over to Dev’s then?”

“Dev hasn’t seen him. Not since midday.”

“Did you call his mobile?”

“I’ve called. Dev’s called. Basil isn’t picking up. It goes directly to voicemail.” Malcolm’s agitated. I can tell by the timbre of his voice. “I thought perhaps he’d come up to visit you for the night and forgot to tell us.”

Baz would never forget to tell Daphne. He’s conscientious about things like that.

“He hasn’t. I’ve not heard from him. Not since Tuesday.” I click the television off. “I’m sure he’s alright, Malcolm. Maybe he ran into some friends at the Club and they went out.” I can hear Malcolm’s fingers tapping through the line. Another tell of his. “Have you called the Club?”

“I have. Cecil said he saw him leave this afternoon. They’ve not seen him since.”

I check my watch. It’s half past ten.

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. It’s not as if Baz is a child. He’s of age. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

But he’s not prone to haring off without letting any of us know. He’s meticulous about that. He knows how Daphne frets.

He knows Malcolm worries.

“What can I do to help? I can try to call him, text him? Do a finding spell?”

“I’ve tried that.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“His mobile? Did you try tracking that?”

“He’s turned access off.”

I’m up off the sofa now. Where the hell are my keys?

“I’ll go to the Club. I’ll see if his car is still there.” I find my keys and pocket them, putting the phone on speaker as I pull on my boots.

Malcolm sighs. “Sorry. I thought I mentioned it. When I spoke to Cecil earlier I had him check the car park. His car was still there.”

“Well, I’ll go see for myself if it bloody well still is.” I grab my wallet and I’m out the door a moment later, mobile still clutched to my ear. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

The Jag is still in the lot when I pull into the Club parking area. It’s the only car there.

It’s locked, of course, because Basil is nothing if not a creature of habit. I spell it and open the door.

There’s nothing to see. It’s pristine as always, because Baz is a prat. No papers. No mobile. No tennis racquet, no bag. Nothing.

Where the fuck is he?

I drive to Hampshire. There’s no point in going back to my flat, not until we’ve got this figured out.

**Malcolm**

Fiona shows up at the door at half-past twelve. She looks as agitated as I feel. Daphne sweeps her into a hug and we all settle in the den. I pour her a whiskey. I pour one for myself as well.

A generous pour.

Daphne sips her Madeira.

“So now what?” Fiona asks, downing half her drink in one swallow.

“I think we need to report him as missing to the authorities,” Daphne says, eyes on me.

“The Normal authorities, you mean?” Fiona asks.

“Well, yes. There’s no magical authority to report him to.”

I’ve often thought it would behoove us to have our own experts for Magickal Law Enforcement. I’m sure there are those who feel that would be encroaching on the freedoms of Mages and some such rot. But in situations like this, the Normal way of doing things is often inadequate.

Fiona snorts. “No authority other than the Mage’s Merry Men.”

That is a sore subject. There is no formal constabulary in the World of Mages but Llewellyn has set up his own corps, under his authority and sole supervision—aptly called the Mage’s Men—who do his bidding and his alone. They’ve already been here twice this summer, looking for banned books and forbidden artifacts. Llewellyn himself showed up the last time. He sat in this very room, drinking tea with Daphne, while his men ransacked our library.

Not that they found anything. I’ve known about their ‘raids’ for months. I was prepared. They found nothing untoward and I could see by the curl of Llewellyn’s lip that he realized he’d been had.

No one crosses that line with a Pitch or a Grimm. I’ll be damned if he gets to paw through our legacy. If he gets to rake through the artefacts Natasha’s family has collected for generations.

I think the fuck not.

Merlin above, I sound like Basilton.

“I wouldn’t even consider informing them.” I lean forward and meet Fiona’s eyes. “This is family business and I see no reason to bring them into it.”

Daphne looks pained. She worries.

I think she worries more about Baz than about the other children. Which is understandable, with all that he’s gone through.

She’s got a soft heart that the whole world can see.

Not me. I hide mine away, under layers of cool competence, an icy demeanor, a steadfast façade of detachment.

My heart’s gone up in open flames once. I don’t dare let that happen again.

“What do you suggest, Malcolm?” Fiona’s glass is empty. Her eyes are narrowed.

“We may have more luck if we work the spell together?” I dart a glance at Daphne. Her lips are a thin line. She knows what I’m going to suggest. “There are some books, as you know, in the library …”

Fiona’s on her feet. “Come on then. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

**Fiona**

The books are old and fucking useless. Malcolm and I try obscure summoning spells, a few dodgy finding spells, and a banned tracking spell. I’ve incinerated one of Baz’s sweaty socks already and we’re no closer to finding him.

I can see the sky brightening when I look out the library windows. We’ve been at it all night, Daphne bringing us tea and biscuits just a short while ago.

“It’s not use. None of these are working.” I lean back in my chair. Bloody hell, I’m tired.

Malcolm frowns down at the scroll he’s perusing. “It doesn’t make sense. These should work.”

“Unless he’s crossed a body of water.”

He’s tapping his fingers again. “It’s not like him, Fiona.”

“I know.”

**Malcolm**

The call comes in mid-morning. From Basilton’s mobile.

“Basilton? Where are you?”

A gravelly voice answers me instead. “No questions.”

“Who are you?”

“I said no questions.” The voice rasps back at me, more of a rough growl now. “We’ve got him.”

My blood runs cold. 

“Tell me where he is.”

There’s a low grumble, almost like a laugh. “Not yet.”

And then they ring off.

Bloody hell.

I call his number and it goes directly to voicemail again.

I’m pounding on Fiona’s bedroom door a moment later. She opens up, hair in a tangle on her head, eyes narrowed at me.

“I got a call.”

That snaps her to attention.

“From Baz?”

I shake my head and wave my mobile at her. “It was his number but it wasn’t him. Someone has him.”

The color drains from her face. “What do you mean _someone has him_? Kidnapped? Is that what you’re saying, Malcolm?”

“They didn’t say much. Told me not to ask any questions and said _‘we’ve got him’ _and then rang off_.”_

“Give me your mobile.” She snatches if from me before I can hand it over.

“It won’t do any good. I tried to call back and it went straight to voicemail.”

“Really, Malcolm, there are times I despair for you. I don’t know what Natasha was thinking.” She pulls her wand out of her pocket and taps at my screen.

There is no point to having passwords around Fiona. She can open any lock, bypass any privacy PINs, crack any code. It’s just one of the unsavory skills she has.

I’m hoping they all come in useful now.

“**_Back to the source.” _**She’s tapping on the received call log, on the recent call from Baz’s mobile. My screen glows momentarily and then goes dim. “Bloody hell.” She taps it again with the same result.

She hands it back, the disgust clear on her face.

“What were you trying to do?”

“Trace the location of the call. To zoom in the location of the mobile itself.” She’s tapping her wand against the doorframe. “It usually works, unless there’s water involved or the network is buggered up.”

“Someone has him, Fiona. They have Baz.”

Our eyes meet. We’ve kept this secret—Daphne, Fiona and I. And … one more person but he’s no use to us right now. We’ve kept this between us for thirteen years. For Baz’s sake.

For Baz’s safety.

Anyone who has him in their custody will know. Likely not today. Perhaps not even tomorrow, depending on when he fed last.

But it’s inevitable. He can’t go more than a day or two.

I can see it in her eyes. She knows.

Whoever has him will kill him when they find out.

I close my eyes as a wave of nausea hits me. My knees feel weak. I clutch the doorframe to steady myself.

They have my son. Someone has my son.

_Keep it together, Malcolm Grimm_. I hear Natasha’s voice in my head but it’s Fiona who’s grabbing my sleeve and shaking me.

“Steady now, Malcolm.”

**Fiona**

I wish I was as confident as I sound.

**Malcolm**

The next call comes two days later.

Fiona, Daphne and I have had two sleepless nights, endless pots of tea, a myriad of useless spells.

The children are in bed. Fiona and I are poring over near-incomprehensible, dubious ancient tomes when the call comes in.

I pick up my mobile and put it on speakerphone.

“Malcolm Grimm,” is all I say.

“We’ve got him.” The voice is lower this time, gruffer. Not the same person then.

Fiona leans forward and I slash my hand in the air at her. My message is clear: _let me handle this_.

She slumps back in her chair, arms crossed, brow furrowed, her glare directed at the mobile resting on the table between us.

“Where is my son?”

“For us to know and you not to find out.”

“What do you want?”

The price they name is surprisingly high but not astronomically out of reach. I’ll have to speak with my brother and make a few calls to the bank but I can handle this.

I’ll pay more if needed.

I’ll sell whatever I have. No reservations.

“When and where?”

Fiona leaps across the table to pick up my mobile. She shakes it and then starts shouting. “Listen, you yammering gobshite, I’ll be damned if I pay one cent to get my nephew back. Do you know who you are dealing with? This is the House of Pitch. We never forgive and we never forget. I’ll flay you alive before I barter with you over my nephew. I’ll burn you at the stake if you touch a single hair on his head. You will regret this with your dying breath, which I hope to hell comes at my hand.”

I wrestle the mobile away from her. “Hello? Hello?”

They’ve rung off, of course.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Fiona? We could have had him back by sundown. What part of _let me fucking handle this _do you not understand?” I’m shouting.

I don’t think I’ve ever actually shouted at Fiona before.

She’s lucky I’m not strangling her.

“Pitches don’t negotiate, Malcolm. We don’t get blackmailed, we don’t bow to terms, we don’t pay fucking ransoms. We never have and we bloody well never will.”

“This is my son’s life you’re playing with. Natasha’s son.” I don’t think I’ve ever been this furious.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified.

“I know that!” Fiona shouts back. “They know that. They’re after something, Malcolm, that’s clear. There’s no earthly reason anyone would want to kidnap Baz. They want something _from you_.”  
  
“Money,” I thunder. “They want money and I’ve got more than enough to spare.”

“It’s not about the money.” She’s pacing the room now. “This has the stink of the Mage all over it.” She glares at me. “You’ve thwarted him at every turn. You’ve defied him publicly. You’ve scuttled his raids. You’re fomenting rebellion among the Old Families.”  
  
“You’re the one inciting the insurrection, Fiona, not me. I’ve washed my hands of that.”

“Then maybe they want something from me.”  
  
“Money.” I say again.

“It’s not money. It’s power. Someone has a hold over you now, Malcolm. Over the both of us. Fucking hell. Those arseholes have Baz and they’ve got us over a barrel.”

“So we give them what they want. Baz is more important than any of this.” I walk across the room and grip her by the shoulders. “There’s only so much time, Fiona. Only so much time before _they know_. All they want is money or power or control right now.” My voice drops. “Once they know what he is, it’s over. We’ll never get him back.”

“They wouldn’t dare, Malcolm. They wouldn’t dare.”

**Fiona**

Malcolm stopped speaking to me. He has no idea how this sort of thing works. It’s not the first time a Pitch has been kidnapped, although it very well may be the last, seeing as Baz and I are the end of the line. Literally.

Pitches don’t negotiate. We don’t pay ransoms.

We get revenge.

We get the kidnapped person back too.

Except for great-uncle Percival, but no one really wanted him back anyway. The fairies actually sent him back but he had the misfortune to run into a pack of nuckelavees on his way home and that was the end of him.

One nuckelavee would have been enough. Those are right bastards to kill.

Malcolm argued with me for days. “He’s the only living heir to the House of Pitch!”

“I’m aware!”

“He’s my son, Fiona. He’s the last vestige of Natasha we have left!”

“Natasha would never negotiate. She would never bend her will to another.” My voice was ice. “She scraped the bottom of the barrel when she married a Grimm. Farmers and shepherds, the lot of you. What would you know about pride and dignity?”

“He’s my son!” Malcolm had shouted.

“She would have ended him there and then, Malcolm. She would have ended him herself if she hadn’t been bitten. To keep him from becoming what he is. She would never compromise _anything_, for anyone. And you know it.”

It took us a week to start speaking to each other again.

One more call came in yesterday, with a sum more astronomical than the first, but the caller didn’t seem too focused on the amount. Tossed it off with a laugh almost.

Wouldn’t give Malcolm a time or a place.

The wanker asked, of course. He’d have paid them off the first time they called, if he’d had it his way.

Which he doesn’t, of course. Baz is a Pitch and this is Pitch business. Full stop.

But I don’t think they’re really in it for the money. There’s some other game afoot. Some other purpose to this.

And they know he’s a fucking vampire. Called him a ‘blood-eater’ the last time they called. Nonchalantly dropped it in the conversation.

I told Malcolm that proves it. They’re not going to hurt Baz. If they know he’s a vampire and they’ve not set him alight, they’re not going to do anything to him at all.

This is all bluster and show. It keeps us occupied when we should be planning the Mage’s demise.

I swear it’s something he’s cooked up, to mess with us when we need our focus most. Keeping us distracted while he masterminds another nefarious scheme to decimate our power, divide our forces, subjugate our will.

Honestly, fuck the Mage.

**Malcolm**

They called again. I kept them on the line longer this time, with Daphne recording the conversation with her mobile.

**Fiona **

Numpties. Fucking numpties. It came to me when we were listening to the recording for what must have been the hundredth time. Gravelly voice. Slow and hoarse. Raspy and low. Like rocks scraping against each other. Like the crunch of a gravel road.

“Numpties! How the fuck did Baz get himself kidnapped by fucking numpties?”

Malcolm’s eyes had gleamed. “At least we know who has him.”

“Why numpties?”

“I don’t care about the why, Fiona. All I care about is _where_.”

“London, then. That’s where to find them.”

**Malcolm**

Daphne tries to keep my spirits up but the despair has set in. The numpties haven’t called in weeks. Baz’s mobile doesn’t even go to voicemail anymore. Just rings and rings and rings.

The last time they called they didn’t even talk about money. They wanted wands.

Wands. Numpties wanting wands. It’s absurd. They’ve hardly any magic to them. What would they want with wands? It’s not like they could even use them. Or effectively burn them to keep warm. 

It makes me think Fiona’s right. That the numpties are just a front, a subterfuge. Something more sinister is behind this. It makes no sense.  
  
Why on earth would they kidnap Baz if they wanted wands? I may have magickal objects in my possession but I don’t have wands just lying about.

Fiona’s gone to London again, to consult with her ‘sources.’ I know who she means. I doubt he will be of any help to us. He’s a turncoat, a traitor. A curse to his family and our kind.

I would pay every single one of the Covent Garden vampires any sum they wish, for information. Even though their kind killed my wife. Even though their savagery has marred my son forever.

I don’t give a damn. I would pay the devil himself if he would give me Baz back.

**Fiona**

I’ve scoured every place that’s had a hint of numpty to it. Abandoned buildings. The closed-off lines of the Underground. The seedy steam baths near the docks.

I don’t know where else to look.  
  
I do know who to ask.

It’s been years since I’ve seen Nicky.

I’m desperate.

We’ve not heard from the kidnappers for weeks. Every finding spell I’ve attempted has failed. 

He’s got to be near water or underground. That’s the only thing I can think of, that would confound the spells. Running water, a place deep beneath the ground, a hiding place encased in steel.

The last one makes me shudder.

Malcolm has resorted to some questionable practices. I’d not expected it of him. Grimms don’t usually dabble in the darker magic.

I certainly did not expect him to summon a demon. That was two days ago. I thought Daphne was going to drop dead from the shock when the bastard manifested but she stayed by Malcolm the whole time, chanting the incantation just as he told her to.

Not that it helped. The horned nightmare didn’t tell us much of anything.

I wonder if it’s that much harder to track the undead.

Not that I think Baz is undead. He’s just not as _alive _as one would prefer, for these kinds of rituals.

So all we have is what I’ve been saying. Near running water. Underground. Possibly a metal barrier.

I’ve berated Malcolm enough. He’s proved far more Pitch than Grimm through this whole fiasco, barring the ransom issue.

I’ve got a fair amount of respect for Malcolm, though I’ll die a thousand painful deaths before I ever tell him that. The way he handled the loss of Tasha, what happened to Baz—what he is, what he’s become. It’s not something for the weak of heart.

I criticize Malcolm for being weak.

He’s not. Not really.

If anything, it’s me that’s is. I know what you would have done, Tasha. I know what you would have told Malcolm to do.

And I think he would have defied you, even if you’d lived.

That helps me do it too. I’ve made different choices than you would, sister.

I think they’re the right ones.

Even the one I’m making now.

I’ll find Nicky. I always do.

And he’ll help.

He always does.

I’ll find the bastards who took your boy and I will bloody _end them_

**Author's Note:**

> this was painful to write, thinking of the parental perspective and writing from Malcolm and Fiona's POV but I truly enjoyed writing Malcolm and Fiona. I don't write them much at all but they are very interesting characters and I liked getting in their heads for this one, even though it hurt my heart.


End file.
